Towards Dawn
by sugarcandyaddiction
Summary: Carl's life experiences ups and downs, love and heartbreak, as he struggles to find happiness through highschool and college, only for everything to crash around him as he faces tragic news.
1. Prologue: Sunset

Prologue: Sunset

The last drops of sunshine dipped beneath the horizon, coloring the sky with purples, pinks, and oranges. Carl watched regretfully, as summer sank with that sun set. School was going to start up again in the morning, the first day back. He frowned, staring up at the endless sky from where he lay in the middle of the lawn, his hands resting behind his head.

His freshman year.

It seemed so long ago when Carl was just a carefree boy, cooking up get-rich schemes in the backyard doghouse with his best friend, Hoodsey. Back then it felt like there was no end and his youth would be eternal. He thought he had all the time in the world, but now as he reflected on those days gone by, he truly understood the meaning of "time sure flies".

Elementary School had been the golden years in Carl's life, and he didn't know then how much he would miss them until he found himself smack-dab in the middle of Junior High School. It was there that his quirks made him stand out in an environment where it was best he fit in, and it was no longer a good thing that he was considered weird, at least not to his peers. He spent most of those three years working on getting through each day unscathed, and by the time it was over he'd only ever associated with his best friend, Hoodsey, and his girlfriend, Noelle. He'd survived through middle school relatively well considering others. He'd get in scraps here and there, as his mouth wasn't always something he could control, and could you really blame him for being smarter and wittier than even the most cunning Neanderthal in that school? Apparently they could. He spent most of his preteen years in detention and grounded, after all.

As most students stumbled through the awkward first years of adolescence, Carl had handled it as casually as he did all things in his life. He'd made it as weird and strange an experience as possible for everyone involved. His sister didn't really appreciate when he'd spent a week experimenting with her loofah and Apricot Scrub. Turned out they were not meant to be used together, nor for hair, feet, underarms, or any of the private regions. It was a valuable lesson. He tried new styles with his hair, his clothes, his attitude. He spent one day as a Goth, but couldn't quite pull off the whole 'dark, angsty, unemotional' persona. Not to mention, he couldn't write poetry. He'd also managed to gel his hair into a Mohawk one time, but his mother, Lois, made him take it out immediately.

Now he'd worked his way back to his humble beginnings. He sported a shaggy bowl haircut similar to that of his youth, loose jeans and a faded brown t-shirt that hung nicely off his wiry figure. He'd grown somewhat taller, and his skin was a tad darker than in his youth. Unlike other children in the neighborhood, he still spent most of his time outdoors. Of course, it wasn't because he loved the out of doors so much, rather, he couldn't stand being at home anymore. His mother had remarried when he was about ten years old. It wasn't like he hated the man, Dr. Dave, it was just, a lot of things. He liked being the only man in the house, before. He liked the family dynamic they had going on. It was a little awkward, seeing a man smooching with his mother, the way they came out of their room late in the morning, their hair mussed, their clothes shambles, their faces flushed. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what they'd been doing that night.

Dr. Dave was hinting that he wanted Carl to call him "dad" or something along those lines, though he never pushed. There were times Carl couldn't even sit in the house, the way they giggled and talked with one another. He knew it was selfish of him, and that his mother deserved to be happy, and that Ginger, his older sister, was having a harder time dealing with this new man in their mom's life than him seeing as how she'd known their biological father better, but he couldn't help but push them all away and shut them out.

Everything had changed, and now his childhood was all ending. It seemed to flash before his eyes. All those childish pranks, all those masterminded schemes, all those years of struggling to find himself, and still not being sure where he was.

"Carl," a brusque accented voice called from the house and the door swung open, a woman sticking out her brown curly head and blinking her heavily eye shadowed eyes at the young man strewn across her lawn, "Carl, dinner's ready."

"I'll take my meal outside" Carl replied, not even bothering to sit up or look to the older woman that was his mother, "And I would like my fruit cocktail inside of my baked potato." Lois sighed, audibly.

"Carl," she started again, her voice sagging with peevishness, "Get your rump in here, or you won't be eating at all. And we're having chicken cacciatore tonight. I don't have any baking potatoes."

"Now, Lola," Carl began, his own tone one of mock annoyance with an underlying sadness as he realized he was getting too old for this childish banter, "I specifically asked for a baked potato."

"Get in here, Carl," Lois growled, disappearing back into the house, but not before calling over her shoulder, "And it's _mom!_"

"Do I at least get a fruit cocktail?"

Carl chuckled, pulling himself into a sitting position, and briefly taking in the darkening street, pulling his knees to his chest. Sheltered Shrubs always seemed so small to him. He knew that his sister, Ginger, had dreamed of something bigger, some place _out there_ that she could call her own. But her _out there_ turned out to be classes at the community college and planning to move out into an apartment with Dodie. Carl had made a vow long ago that he would escape that small town one way or another, no matter what extremities it took. But now, the time was growing ever nearer that he needed to start making those escape plans.

The last rays of light dipped from view, and the street was engulfed in darkness, save for the tiny, flickering spotlights of the streetlamps.

"Carl! Food's getting cold!" Lois roared from the house. Carl sniffed, rolling his eyes and lifting himself from the ground before sprinting into the house.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

"I'm real sorry I couldn't drive you out there myself, Carl, help you get settled in," Lois was saying, with a heaviness to her roughly accented voice, "I really would have preferred it over double-shifts at the hospital, I'll tell you that."

"It's okay, mom," Carl replied, with a light chuckle as he started up the steps of the apartment complex, "It's better this way, anyhow. How'm I supposed to be 'on my own' if my mom's 'holding my hand' the whole time? This way, it's like a real adventure."

"Yeah…" Lois lamented, then with a chuckle, "It's a good thing you had no trouble finding a roommate. I hear it's hard to find apartments in that city. I hope your roommate's nice…I wish I could have driven you out there to at least meet the kid…"

"Yup," Carl chirruped distractedly, "Look, Lola, I'm here, at the apartment, and I don't think it's a good first impression for my roommate…you know…me chatting on a cell phone when I arrive. So, I'll call you later."

"Yeah, well…just remember who's paying for that cell phone," Lois clucked, "Bye, Carl. And don't be late to check in for your classes! And don't drive your roommate up the wall! Oh, and clean up after yourself...and even if you don't likke him at first, try to get along and..."

"Calm down, mom, I'm in college now. Have a little faith."

Carl hung up, his mother grumbling something about "faith in him not being possible," and slipped the tiny phone into his pocket, pausing in front of the nice mahogany door with the golden "45" neatly drilled into the top. It opened before he even had time to knock and he grinned at the blonde haired boy standing in the doorway.

"You're late, Foutley," the boy commented in a sharp English accent.

"Or am I right on time, Blakey-boy?" Carl replied cheekily, and the other boy raised an eyebrow, before shaking his head and widening the door to allow Carl entrance, "Nice crib," Carl admired, waltzing into the apartment and giving it a once over.

It was a nice apartment, what with being a brand new complex and all. The entire place seemed to be white, white carpeting, white walls. The couch in the living room was white. The boy standing in the doorframe was white. It all looked very pristine. There was a houseplant beside the door, it's deep green standing out in the surrounding environment like a cockroach on snow, and the kitchen to the left was open to the living room. To the back was the hallway leading to the master bedroom, the guest room, the hallway closet and the bathroom. It was all furnished and decorated, everything was clean, spic and span.

"I had Winston give me a hand," Blake explained, leaning against the now closed front door, "I wish you'd been here days ago…it's so boring here all alone." Carl smirked, dropping his bags to the ground and coming to stand with his body flush to Blake's. His lips just barely brushed against the younger boy's ear.

"Well…you're not alone anymore," Carl whispered suggestively, satisfied when a blush colored Blake's cheeks. He turned, stretching, "Show me the bedroom."

"It's…b-back here," Blake stammered, flustered. He grabbed Carl by the hand, dragging the older boy down the hallway, and receiving no protest.

The bedroom was more befitting Carl's nature, with the walls painted a dark color. A large king sized bed pushed to the back wall, blanketed with large fluffy comforters, pillows, and a quilt. The window was covered with a curtain, and a few rather ghastly posters were hung on the walls. A few of Carl's things had already been brought to the apartment, and they were already set up. There was a door that connected to the master bathroom, and it was opened a crack to reveal the inside. It was just as clean as the rest of the house, and Carl noted with kinky interest the shower looked big enough to comfortably fit two people in with plenty of space to maneuver. There was a small television set up on a black entertainment deck with a VCR/DVD player, and a stereo. Carl grinned, crossing the room and leaping into the bed, leaving Blake in the doorway fighting the urge to smile. Carl pulled himself into a sitting position, looking around the room with a bright grin, and bouncing happily.

"You like it?" Blake questioned nervously, and Carl looked thoughtful.

"It's nice," he started slowly, before his smile became one of a more devilish nature, "But do you know what would make it way better?"

"What?" Blake asked, brow drawn together, a bit flabbergasted. He couldn't quite figure what could possible be wrong with the room. He'd made sure it would be particularly comfortable for Carl. Carl's grin widened, if it were possible.

"You naked."

Blake's eyes went wide and his face turned bright red. His mouth opened and closed several times, as he was completely disconcerted and couldn't figure out anything witty to reply to that statement, so he found himself gaping. Carl simply sat grinning at him, kicking his legs, hands pressing into the soft comforter.

"You…you are…irrepressible," Blake finally managed, "You are vulgar…obscene…"

"And you're still not naked," Carl calmly pointed out. Blake shook his head, his eyes closed, and Carl pulled himself up, sauntering over to the younger boy, curling his fingers in Blake's shirt and pulling him forward so there was no space between their bodies. Blake looked up into Carl's smiling eyes, "Come on, Gripling. Let's break this place in."

He didn't have to prod any farther as the younger boy, on tiptoe, pressed a kiss to his lips. And Carl wasted no time deepening it, leaning Blake against the doorframe and parting their lips gently with his tongue. He slipped his rough, calloused hand beneath the smaller boy's shirt, finding the smooth warmth of bare flesh, and smirking at how his touch caused Blake to quiver. For a moment his hand caressed the flesh there, and then in a swift movement, his fingers deftly undid the buttons of Blake's shirt, slipping it over the younger boy's shoulders. He paused, taking a moment to absorb the image of the flushed, panting young man before him.

"See, you're halfway to nakedness and the room already looks better," he remarked, and Blake opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he was ready to say turned into a soft moan in the back of his throat, as Carl captured his collar bone, skillfully massaging it with mouth and tongue. Hand on Blake's waist and mouth never leaving the smooth skin, Carl led them towards the bed, letting Blake's shirt fall haplessly to the ground.

Blake fell, back down, onto the soft comforters and Carl, knees straddling the younger boy's body, positioned himself on top. He curled forward, starting another kiss, rougher this time. He took a moment to sit up and remove his own t-shirt, dropping it off the side of the bed and hastily continuing where he left off. He could feel Blake's fingers undoing his pants, and was all the more excited by the eagerness in those clumsy movements. Small hands traced along Carl's bare spine, and he shivered, shuffling their positions so that now Carl laid on his back staring up at the ceiling as the younger boy trailed kisses down his chest, each one growing with desperation the further down they went, until they were quick, eager pecks around his belly button, to the top of his jeans, just above his groin. Blake paused there, his mouth working in slow motions, as his hands slipped beneath the jeans and worked them downward. He felt a groan quiver from within Carl, and smiled against the dark flesh almost triumphantly when the older boy murmured, "God, Blake…"

The room was dark when Carl opened his eyes later that night, and the alarm clock next to him glowed '4:47 am' in bright red. A heavy weight lay over his chest, warm and soft, and Carl pulled himself up slightly. He smiled down at the blonde head resting on his shoulder, fingers curled against his skin, belly against his chest, the younger boy's nose nuzzling Carl's neck, soft breath tickling his skin, and he relaxed back down against his pillow.

Blake was at least two years younger that Carl, but was by far more mature. He was intelligent, which had resulted in him skipping a few grades ahead when they were in elementary school. He was small, slim, graceful, and eerily beautiful. His skin was milk white, his hair platinum, and his eyes wide and deep blue. He blushed easily, and making those cheeks turn bright pink was a favorite pastime of Carl's. His lips were light cherry red, and formed a pretty pout, and his subtle English accent made him seem cold and distant. It was one of the reasons Carl hadn't gotten along with him when they were children. That, and he had been snobby, arrogant, fake, and overly annoying.

Carl shifted the younger boy up slightly, so that Blake's body covered more of his. Not for the first time, Carl noted that their bare flesh felt nice against one another, and the younger boy smelled so good. He lay there for a moment in the silence of the dark room, listening to his lover's soft breathing, and running his finger's lightly up and down over the small boy's spine. But as sleep continued to pervade him, he grew restless, until finally he decided to put the few hours he had before he was supposed to wake up to good use. He gingerly rolled the younger boy off of him, laying Blake carefully against the pillow and tenderly tugging the comforter up onto the younger boy's shoulders. Then Carl searched the floor for his pants, pulling them on and heading out the door.

He ran through a routine of push-ups, sit-ups, a work-out that had become like ritual to him in his early years of high school. He let his mind focus on the movements, on his muscles, on his breathing. He hadn't run through the routine all Summer, but it was something to do with the energy left over from sex last night. Breathe in, breathe out, push up, push down. It was nice, to get his mind off things.

The morning he left Sheltered Shrubs had been a disaster. He'd gotten in a fight with his stepfather and taken off without waiting for Hoodsey. He'd already said his good-bye's the night before, but Hoodsey had still wanted to drop by to see Carl off. The fight didn't even seem important now, Carl realized, as he paused in mid sit-up, taking deep breaths. He'd gotten mad at Dr. Dave over something or the other being packed wrong. Dr. Dave had made a comment about how the object was "just a toy" and Carl was set off. The fight had lasted for nearly half-an-hour when Carl finally finished by snapping "you're not my father, anyways", which happened to be exactly when his mother walked in the room to see what the commotion was about. She said nothing and he took off. It was later that she called when he was well on the road, and their entire conversation had been pleasant, as though the whole event at the house had never happened.

Carl fell back, his hands pressed into the carpet, as he gasped for breath. He was dizzy, almost suddenly, having lost track of his breathing. There was stirring in the backroom, and he wondered if Blake was waking up. His young lover tended to do that, when Carl left the bed. It was endearing. He often joked, "did you miss me?" and the blonde would turn several delightful shades pinker. He smiled softly at the thought of the younger boy, falling to lay back on the plush carpet, sweat matting his hair and clothes and the wiry strands of white fabric sticking to his body. The door to the bedroom didn't open and Carl was almost disappointed. He rubbed his chest, to relieve a sudden pressure settling heavily there and wondered if he was getting sentimental. He had never worried about those things with Noelle.

The thought of his ex brought Carl to his feet with a deep frown and he trudged towards the bathroom. It was still a bit early to shower, but he figured he would take nice, long, hot and cold ones. Cold first, to chill his exhausted and overheated body, then, of course, hot.

It was the beginning of high school, freshman year, four years ago. September, 2001. Carl walked with Hoodsey to the school campus, to the high school his sister now attended in her Junior year, to the high school he would now attend. Noelle sat on the front steps, legs crossed, eyes closed, hands laying on her knees palms up. As the boys got closer, they distinctly heard the ominous humming of "om". Carl smirked, leaning down to peck the small girl on the cheek, and Hoodsey shifted uncomfortably, nodding to passing peers giving the tiny redhead odd looks. She blinked, before turning bright eyes up to the two boys hovering over her, lips pursed together and unmoving.

"You've interrupted my morning meditation," she immediately pointed out, sounding all too annoyed. Carl simply shrugged, smirk never faltering. "Now my entire aura will be…" she began, and while Hoodsy seemed to listen interestedly, Carl sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring disgruntled out at the student body passing and pressing around them. He'd heard his girlfriend's rants far too many times. He'd have them memorized if they didn't change every time, but the gist was still the same. If he kissed her during meditation, she'd rant about her aura being screwed up for the day because he'd interrupted her ascent to nirvana. If he didn't kiss her when they came upon her, she'd rant that he was unhappy with her and that her aura would be screwed up for the day because his dark mood clogged her chakras. No matter what he did, he was always wrong.

Carl could easily identify the new freshman at the high school. It was a small town, so he'd gone to school with all of them since kindergarten. It was not something that comforted him. He noticed with slight interest that Polly Shuster had developed a nice rack over summer vacation. He wasn't the only one to notice, as she was surrounded by a flock of boys feigning affinity for birds. She didn't look impressed, but then she didn't look bored either. Junior and Junior Sr. were amongst them. Carl had never really been in any classes with the two boys because they'd been in the developmental classes all their lives and he hadn't, but his mother had dated their father, Buzz, for a very short while.

He frowned when his eyes landed on Blake Gripling and Brandon Higsby standing together and chatting quietly, looking scathingly out at the passing students, by the far wall. They had befriended one another somewhere in middle school, being the two outcasts in the class and to Carl, there was something disconcerting about seeing his two greatest enemies in commune. He tried not to think about it.

Terrance was walking up the sidewalk towards the steps. He'd finally gotten out of fourth grade, but he also towered over his peers. He was big, dumb, and aiming to try out for the football team. A few girls, more on the popular end of the social ladder, really liked that about him. And the fact he could already drive and was incredibly ripped probably didn't hurt either. Carl nodded in acknowledgement to the lumbering hulk as he passed.

"…in any case," Noelle was wrapping up, "Do you really want to be responsible for the repercussions caused by…"

"You're right," Carl interrupted, spreading his hands out before him, "I'm a complete moron. Selfish and inconsiderate," somewhere during the rant, Noelle had lifted herself to her feet to stand staring up at him, and he wrapped his arm over her shoulders, leading her towards the school entrance and she promptly fell into an irritated silence, "I'll try harder next time not to disrupt your mojo, babe."

"Aura, Carl," Hoodsey put in, receiving a harsh glance from his best friend, "It's…aura…" he stammered, trailing off and eyeing the cement.

"Whatever," Carl muttered disinterestedly, "Let's go make-out, Noelle." The small girl pulled from his clutch, turning her petite nose into the air.

"I have homeroom to get to," she remarked curtly, "Hoodsey, I believe our classes are in the same hall."

"Oh…coming," Hoodsey hastily followed the young woman, subtlety glancing back to his abandoned friend sheepishly, trying to discern how betrayed Carl was probably feeling by that abrupt departure.

But Carl simply shoved his hands deep into his jean pockets and turned away towards his own homeroom, frowning at the tiled floors and the people he passed. He slipped into the classroom and took a seat. The bell wouldn't be ringing for at least five minutes, so the room was relatively empty save for the teacher who nodded at him in acknowledgement behind an open newspaper. Carl laid his head down on the desk in front of him trying to gage how he felt about his best friend and girlfriend just turning their backs on him and leaving him in the hallway with five minutes to bell ring. For a fleeting moment, he wondered with irony, if maybe they were having a romantic affair. He chuckled slightly at the thought, receiving an odd look from the teacher. But even as he laughed at the notion, a pang in his chest marked the unsettling realization, he didn't really care.

He hadn't really been passionate about anything those past few months…or had it been years since he'd last felt the thrill of an adrenaline rush, or even the raw feeling of a fierce, gut-wrenching emotion of any kind that had been usual to him in his youth? The door opened and Blake and Brandon waltzed in. Nausea and disgust settled into the pit of his stomach. He thought, unhappily, at least he could count on _them _to make things stir inside him. They paused to look at him and he glanced away, choosing to stare darkly at the chalkboard and bury his face in his arms.

Oh yeah. It was going to be a long year.


	3. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews MizCam, bena24, and nix! They were so nice, this next chapter is for you three.

****EDIT: I think I made a mistake when I originally wrote this...I'm not sure. I put Blake's age at eleven in the flashback and I know a couple reviewers expressed concern at him partaking in the behaviour described at such a young age but I thank them for feeling my writing was up to par enough to make the scene still remain believable. Hopefully they'll be relieved to know that it was a boo-boo on my part. Blake's flashbacks are supposed to run parallel, sort of, to Carl's. Therefore, since Carl's flashbacks start Freshman year of highschool, so would Blake's. Carl would be fourteen...fifteen Freshman year which would make Blake twelve...thirteen. Not much older...but...the world is a sad place....****

Chapter 2:

Carl was a bit startled when the bathroom door opened, but he relaxed slightly as he felt the calming presence of his lover. There was something about the younger boy, a smell…a warmth…a light almost, that Carl could simply sense. In a crowd of people, he could always find the other boy. With his eyes closed he could identify him from a dozen others. When Blake entered the same room, it was like Carl had been empty the whole time and suddenly someone filled him up.

He noticed from the corner of his eye the slim pale hand slip through the shower curtain and then pull back as though burned.

"That water is like ice," Blake complained, and Carl could hear the shivers in his voice.

"Well," Carl smirked, "Why don't you come in and warm it up?" He didn't have to see the younger boy to know that pale cherubic face was beet red.

For a long moment, Blake was silent, obviously weighing his options of response. Growing impatient, Carl pulled the curtain back partially to eye the younger boy. Blake had pulled on some loose sweatpants, and that was all he wore. His hair was slightly mussed, but it didn't look a mess, or out of place at all. He was standing by the sink, eyes staring at the tiled floor and face still pink. He'd been thin and small his whole life and Carl could see the rigid bones of his shoulders and ribs, and his chest rose and fell steadily as he breathed. Just looking at the boy, Carl's body reacted, and he grinned, disappearing back into the shower and running his hands through his hair, knocking the water down his back. He was startled only momentarily when he felt gentle fingers run along his spine, and then lips pressed to his shoulder blade and the touch was like magic, relaxing every muscle in his body to a point where he could barely stand.

Blake reached forward, turning the knob to heat up the shower as Carl turned to face him, pressing Blake's back against the tiled wall and engulfing him in a kiss. His tongue explored every inch of the younger boy's mouth, before he pulled away, both boys gasping for breath. The growing heat in the water accentuated the hormones and sexual attraction racing through their bodies. He leaned in once more, his hands moving down to Blake's hips, when Blake placed his hands on Carl's chest, holding him back.

"We shouldn't," the younger boy murmured, voice breathless, "I mean…we just…"

"Had sex?" Carl supplied, before chuckling at the chastity of his lover, "That was _hours _ago, Blakey-boy. And besides," he pulled the boy closer to his body, pelvic areas flush, and dropping his voice to a low, husky whisper, "_You're _the one that climbed into _my _shower…so I know you want it."

"Mm…" Blake mumbled, trembling against the older boy and leaning into Carl's chest, eyes half-closed, he moved forward, hands slipping around Carl's waist, gently touching his lips to the older boy's ear, "We both know I _always _want _you_…"

"Well," Carl gingerly pulled away, leaning against the far tile wall and spreading his arms out in front of him, grinning broadly, and dramatically tossing his head to the side, "I guess I'm at your mercy. You can have your way with me…but…be gentle." Blake flustered, looking up at Carl through light blonde lashes and smiling softly. He advanced, slowly, and Carl felt the awnings of lust inside him from those graceful movements. Blake's hands, small and wonderfully soft, crawled across Carl's skin, and he pressed his lips to Carl's chest, moving closer as he trailed kisses up towards the taller boy's neck and chin and lips. He paused, fingers spread along Carl's shoulder blades, cheek pressed into his chest.

"I've been thinking," Blake started and Carl sighed audibly, slumping and reveling in the water pounding down his back.

"What?"

"Don't be offended…but…"

"What?" Carl pulled away, bending slightly to turn the water off. It dripped from the faucet, dying out, and they stood naked in front of one another. Blake folded his hands onto his chest, lowering his eyes and trying to sort out what he wanted to say exactly, wincing beneath Carl's intense and questioning stare.

"Carl…I just…I think that…now don't get upset…but…" Blake stammered, "I think that we…well…should…that we should…um…get tested."

"Tested for what?" Carl asked, scrunching his nose and trying to figure the meaning in Blake's announcement.

"Tested," Blake stressed, then meeting Carl's eyes as the older boy obviously wasn't understanding, "Tested, _tested_!" He then cleared his throat, dropping his voice, "For…STD's." Carl's eyes went wide and his mouth formed an 'oh'. He pulled the curtain back and stepped from the shower, turning his bare back to his lover.

"Tested…" he rolled the word around in his mouth, "Why?"

"To be safe," Blake explained silently, watching Carl with wary eyes. He wasn't sure how the other boy would react.

"Safe?" Carl repeated, he turned suddenly, eyes boring into Blake's, "I don't know about you…but you're the only one I'm sleeping with so…"

"And you're the only one I'm with," Blake snapped in return, hurt by the implication that he could possibly be sleeping around. He lowered his eyes when Carl's locked with his, "I just think it would be best. There's a free clinic that gives confidential tests and…"

"I don't see why we need them," Carl cried, "I mean…unless you're planning on sleeping…"

"It's for safety," Blake interjected desperately, "I'm not just sleeping with you, Carl, but with everyone else you've ever been with, and everyone else they've ever been with and…"

"Are you kidding me? You sound like an infomercial!"

"You weren't exactly a virgin when we got together…everybody knows you've had experience with that ex-girlfriend of yours!"

"Oh please, you weren't exactly confused about what to do our first time, either!"

"And who knows who the hell that tramp has been with," Blake regretted it the moment it spilled from his lips and he clamped his mouth shut immediately. It didn't erase the enraged glare that Carl set on him.

For what seemed a long time, they sat there, Blake squirming under that scrutinizing stare, until finally Carl turned and stormed from the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Blake took a deep breath, leaning against the tiled wall, and sliding to the porcelain floor, running his fingers through his hair and leaning his face forward to his knees, shaking with each breath he took and the sobs fighting to escape his ribcage.

He wanted to go after Carl, but couldn't bring himself to his feet. He took a few weary breaths, before pulling his knees closer to his chest, and squeezing his eyes closed. He'd been planning how to approach the subject of getting tested for awhile, he'd had nearly a month and a half before Carl would arrive to the apartment. But it was a difficult subject to breach, especially with his lover, whom he'd always had trouble reading and understanding and speaking to about serious things in general. He never knew what would set the older boy off, he'd never known. Carl had always made Blake uncomfortable.

Carl was lean. His muscles were sleek, and he had the grace of a natural athlete. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. A strong smooth face, deeply tanned skin, and shaggy auburn hair. He wore a light smile on his face, but his eyes burned with a deep intensity that made Blake ache inside to know what thoughts rolled around in that mind. Of course, it wasn't Carl's mind that Blake's body yearned for and reacted strongly to. And it wasn't his mind that caught the eye of everybody he passed.

Carl wasn't the first boy that Blake had ever been with, but he was the only one that Blake had ever wanted to be with. There was something about the older boy that reminded Blake of how young he really was, that made him feel like a small child. Suddenly washed clean, purified of all sins. He felt shy, and embarrassed by how strongly he lusted for that by far heavenly looking young man.

Blake closed his eyes, wrapping his arms about his buried head and he could still smell Carl and sex on his body, and the steam in the air clung heavily around him.

Sex.

The first time he'd smelled it he was a small child, two or three. His mother had held him in her arms infrequently when he was a babe, and only to give a public display of her wonderful "maternal ability". It was one evening, however, clear in Blake's mind, that his mother had gathered him in her arms simply to hold him. He had laid in his large, luxurious bed, screaming at the top of his lungs from a terrible dream he'd had. His mother had swept into his room, without her exfoliating face crème. Her hair was neatly tucked into curlers, and her robe draped off her shoulders as though tugged on in a rush. She'd looked nothing like he knew his mother to be, the perfect example of high society. When she pulled him into her arms, he'd struggled at first, confused. He'd only ever been consoled after a nightmare by the butler, Winston, and he barely recognized his mother out of her usual night attire.

After a while, he'd buried his face into her robe. Alcohol had always been a constant in his mother's diet, and cigarettes, so their overwhelming smell did not faze him. But he didn't recognize the musty scent that clung all over his mother's body. Her robe smelled of perfume, but her skin of sweat and that sensuous unrecognizable scent that even then, in his baby-child body, stirred the beginnings of arousal. It wasn't until many years later that he knew what that scent, which became as constant as perfume on his mother's body, was. And it wasn't too many years later that it clung to him as well.

It was a Saturday, early October. The radio had announced that it had been a beautiful day, sunny, slightly cloudy. Blake hadn't gotten out of the house, so he really couldn't vouch. He reached wearily from the bed, taking the shot glass with his fingertips and gulping the brownish red contents. It burned the whole way down his throat until it formed a warm ball of fire in his belly and floated to the top of his head. An arm curled around his chest, another hand snaking beneath the covers and coming to rest on the inside of his thigh. He gave a soft murmur, though he wasn't sure if it was in protest or delight.

"What time is it?" a groggy voice whispered in Blake's ear, and he quivered, as the breath against his skin tickled, and the hand on his thigh moved slightly. He leaned forward to grab his pack of cigarettes off the bedside stand and pull one out, slipping it between his lips and casually lighting it. He took a few long drawls, before curling back around into the welcoming arms of his current lover. He was soon folding himself into the soft, muscular body of the young man and finding lips to press his own to, and places to put his hands and raise erotic pleasure.

When he finally pulled away to allow his partner breath, he whispered, "Time for another orgasm."

"Mm…" the young man answered, slipping his hand onto Blake's spine and clumsily turning them over so as he was positioned on top, dropping kisses onto Blake's face, and down his neck.

The boy's name was Derek, and he was so ruggedly handsome, that Blake had decided, the moment he saw the other boy, that he just had to sleep with him. Derek was a sophomore that year, on the basketball team, tall, bulky, and very good with his hands. A virgin. It had been awhile since Blake had been with a true virgin. Not just a boy virgin to homosexual love making, but completely clueless in all sexual regards.

Derek had been hard to capture. It had been a long time since Blake had been met with such an interesting challenge. But like all the boys that Blake chose to pursue, he buckled under that beautiful boy's advances, and it really hadn't taken all too long as Blake thought about it.

It seemed a certainty. No one could resist Blake Gripling.

Blake groaned as they locked hips, legs tangled around one another, and Derek's gentle ministrations ignited a fire in the pit of his groin to match that of the one burning in his belly. The cigarette in his fingers dropped to the ground, snubbed out by the fall and impact of the shoddy carpet.

Derek paused when there came a tapping at the door, but Blake's hands gripped him roughly about the pelvis, guiding him back to their activity. He gave an extra-long, extra-loud, extra-sexual groan in message to whoever stood at his door, knowing that it would send them away immediately.

When they both finally cried out with release, Derek collapsed onto Blake's sweat drenched body and his heavy panting mingled with Blake's own. Their chests rose and fell in seeming unison, and finally Blake pushed the older boy off of himself and slowly moved to his feet, opening his door wide enough to peek out and see who would dare interrupt him. Brandon stood in the hallway, and flashed a quick grin, wiggling his fingers in front of himself in a wave of greeting. Blake sighed, shutting the door once more, finding some pants, tugging them on, and slipping into the hallway, whilst ignoring the questions following him from Derek. He shut the door behind him.

"What are you doing here?" Blake questioned, making to examine his fingernails, nonchalantly, as though they were the most interesting things in the world.

"Who's your latest conquest?" Brandon retorted, glancing curiously at the door.

"Derek Roseburg."

"Jewish," Brandon noted, impressed, and nodding his head aptly, "I assume that means he's very tight…"

"You can be despicable sometimes, you know that?"

"I try," Brandon giggled, before grabbing hold of Blake's hands and tugging him towards the front door, "Take a break, Sof, and come with me a moment. I'm sure you've been in bed all day, the bags are starting to show, dear." Blake cringed, but didn't struggle. For some annoying reason, Brandon liked referring to Blake by his middle name.

Brandon was as thin as Blake, though he was taller by at least half a foot. He held himself with the same smallness that Blake did, and oftentimes they were compared to be at the same height, because that's how people perceived them. Brandon's jet-black hair was always perfectly parted right down the middle, slicked, and gelled down against his scalp, cut just above his ears. He was delicately dabbled with freckles over his entire body, and he wore the most hideous preppy clothing. Neatly pressed khaki trousers, button down shirts and pastel colored sweater vests picked out for him by his mother. His anorexic body frame came from hours spent doing drugs, drinking, and not eating. My miracle diet, he often proclaimed. He liked his sex kinky, and surprisingly enough, it wasn't too hard in their school to find a boy that didn't get hard at the thought of seeing a young boy like Brandon dressed in all too tight black leather. It was even less hard to find a boy that didn't get hard at the thought of hurting Brandon physically, as the lithe young man was quite the masochist.

When the two boys stepped outside, the chill of the night air instantly attacked Blake's bare, sweat drenched flesh, and he instinctively brought his arms about himself. The chirrup of crickets and the laughter of families gathered together for dinner echoing down the street, made Blake wince, and he shuddered away from the desolate trailer park scene laid out before him. Instantly he felt depressed, disgusting, hung-over, naked, and as though he were in physical pain. He squeezed his eyes shut to hide from the bright glower of the streetlights and the full moon.

The scent of dirt, cigarettes, marijuana, alcohol, and urine wafted around him, and for a minute he felt the bile actually crawling up to the back of his throat, before he bent over and vomited onto the grass. Brandon watched in silence, before breaking into giggles at the sight of his friend still flush from fucking a boy he probably didn't even like and wouldn't remember the name of in a day or so, spewing the empty acid in his stomach in the most undignified of manners.

When he was done, Blake stumbled backwards and leaned against the cool wooden wall of his family's "home", and breathed deeply. A slight breeze picked up around them, and he felt slightly refreshed by its chilling gentle caress. He startled, when Brandon touched his shoulder, but calmed, taking the lit cigarette from Brandon's hand and sucking a long hit, letting the warm smoke bellow down his windpipes and cloud into his lungs. Brandon looked to Blake's recently repelled waste with a crinkled nose and then turned an even look on his friend.

"Please tell me you did not break one of the cardinal rules in the sex memorandum, and my personal credo, Thou Shalt Not Swallow," he questioned, almost scathingly, almost jokingly. Blake shuddered, wrapping his arms about himself and taking another hit from the cigarette, letting it soothe his nerves, settle his stomach, and he licked his chapped lips, taking a weary breath and looking to the sky. It was pitch black.

"You can't see the stars," he pointed out, taking another hit from the cigarette, before holding it balanced between his fingers and resting his hand on his elbow, simply letting the smoke seep from between his slightly opened lips. Brandon leaned against the wall next to Blake, staring up at the sky in confusion.

"Not with all the lights from the city, of course, silly," he teased. Blake was silent, rolling the explanation around in his head and taking a long drawl from his cigarette. He puffed the smoke out with a great whoosh of air and tapped the ash to the porch ground.

"It's funny," he commented, "How the stars' natural light dims in comparison to that of the fake lights. I suppose the beauty of the phonies will always outshine the beauty of the naturals." Brandon was quiet, which in itself was strange for the usually hyperactive young man, who wasn't even calmed by the chemical effects of downers.

"You think too much," Brandon mused, before pushing away from the wall and spinning wildly. He extended his hands to Blake with a wide, goofy smile on his face, "Let's dance!"

Blake looked away, stubbed out his cigarette and sunk to the floor of the porch, his entire body trembling as Brandon skipped into the Griplings' "front lawn", spinning wildly, kicking his legs up in a flourish of fancy made-up ballet maneuvers. Blake didn't have to see the older boy's eyes to know the pupils were dilated. It was alright, because he didn't have to worry about the other boy seeing the tears streaming steadily down his cheeks, and the unnatural way he quavered against the wood pressed into his back.

For some reason, in the back of his mind, he wondered if Derek knew he was only thirteen years old.

Blake stepped tentatively from the bathroom into the hallway, finding Carl in the kitchen rummaging through the cupboards. He'd yet to take anything out of them, opening and closing the doors in a partial slam manner. Throughout their intimate time together, Blake had learned every motion and movement of Carl's body, and he could see, beneath the loose clothes the older boy was now clad in, that every muscle in that slim frame was tense. He wanted to go to the other boy, soothe him, wrap his arms about him and cover him in kisses and tell him he was sorry, tell him he was completely in the wrong and that it wasn't important, that he loved the other boy, and would never ever do anything to upset him again. He stood beside the white plaster wall, a hand gently pressed against it for support. He knew his eyes were still red rimmed from the crying and that his soft skin was damp from the steam he'd spent nearly fifteen minutes crying in.

Carl paused when he noticed the other boy's entrance. Either that, or he'd noticed as soon as Blake had entered, and chose that moment to pause and acknowledge it.

"There's no food in this kitchen," Carl calmly stated, though Blake did not miss how stiff the other boy's words seemed.

"I'm sorry, Carl," Blake murmured.

"It's fine," he muttered, "I'll pick something up at the school to eat."

"No," Blake whimpered, like a petulant child, "I'm sorry about…well…" he ran his tongue errantly over his bottom lip, lowering his eyes, "I shouldn't have brought it up."

Silence.

The rummaging resumed, "Brought what up?"

Blake's eyes rose to stare at his lover across the room. So that was how it was going to be. He toyed with the strings of his sweatpants, and stepped forward, clearing his throat.

"Forget I said anything," he mumbled, walking into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator.

He hadn't had the chance to ask Winston to bring them food, having lived off Chinese take-out and Starbuck's in the month he'd spent living there. He felt suddenly horrible at how empty that cold chest looked, and the cupboards were practically bare save for the gaudy dishware that Carl had mentioned he liked once, though Blake hated the ugly design and was repulsed at the idea of eating off them. He started, when Carl slammed a heavy glass to the counter and leaned forward, hands pressed into the white countertop, eyes shut and shoulders rigid. Blake watched his lover with piqued interest, and entranced fear. Carl seemed to be concentrating on something, his brow drawn together, his eyes closed tightly so as little wrinkled lines ran from their corners. Finally, he relaxed ever so slightly, eyes fluttering open and hand coming to rub his forehead.

"Carl," Blake stammered, worry edging his tone and painfully evident in his eyes. The older boy shook his head before meeting his younger lover's gaze.

"It's fine, Blake," Carl assured him. It wasn't fine, "I have to go register for my classes…buy my books…all of that crap. I should go now, before I'm late to meet with my counselor."

Blake felt his head bob up and down, though he was too mesmerized by those shining orbs to understand what he was agreeing to. Something was hidden beneath those eyes, and Blake was certain it was remaining anger towards himself. Carl started towards the door, paused, and as though an afterthought, returned to brush a kiss against Blake's lips.


	4. Chapter 3

AN: Well...yeah...wow, I guess I'm continuing this. I hope there are people sitll interested in reading it.

Oh, and a general announcement, if you don't like my chosen pairings, the solution is simple, **LEAVE** and leave it unsaid. Do not waste my time with a review stating your opinion on the matter not only as if I'm supposed to give a crap but in a manner that sounds as if the pairing I'm writing alone makes my story horrible. If you're going to write me a review, it damn well better be a review rather than an off-handed comment about what *you* prefer. Because honestly, I don't give a damn. This is my story. Got a problem with that? Then write your own goddamned story. On a final note, Carl and _Hoodsey?_ Ew. And I repeat. Ew. I do not understand the best friend slash that's so popular amongst cartoons like this (ie. Otto/Twister). Seriously, get creative people and learn a thing or two about chemistry. Once more. EWWWW.

Also, it'll be discussed later in the story, but my Carl is not gay. It comes up later and is actually a main conflict point...or, leads to a main conflict anyhow. I think the best definition I could give for him in this is "bi-sexual" but he's not really that. Like I said, it'll come up later.

So everyone knows, because I know a lot of readers were concerned, this is not going to be either a "Carl and/or Blake find out they have an STD and most cope with it" or a "everyone must come to terms with Carl being homosexual" story. Please, don't look for it to be a stereotypical slash story and just **READ** it. I hate when people pass judgement on something based on previously read stories. Give my creative mind a little more credit than that. Thanks.

* * *

Chapter 3:

New York was a bustling place, alive with cars and crowds, a rippling wave of millions of people with places to go and things to do. Though the Foutleys had always been a small town family best suited for the suburban life, Carl was the venerable black sheep in all ways including his propensity to meld easily into the new city where his mother and sister would have stuck out like sore thumbs. He found he liked the high energy, antisocial, and rude mannerisms of New Yorkers. Loud, obnoxious, abrasive; these were his kind of people. He marveled at the wondrous feeling of finally being in an atmosphere in which his personality quirks, or most of them anyway, were considered the norm.

Carl bought a bagel and coffee from the first food place he came across and walked the direction of the University, luxuriating in the "rough and tumble" society he'd stepped into; it was so different from Sheltered Shrubs. He'd spent a lot of time in the city over the summer under the pretense of familiarizing himself with the area in which he would be continuing his education. Though not a complete lie much of that time was spent with Blake. They would meet in the city at a hotel and spend half the day in the room. Eventually they would leave and sightsee, and Carl had found he liked what he saw. Perhaps for the first time in his life he truly felt as though he belonged, a feeling he'd taken for granted as a child when he preferred being different.

Carl couldn't fully enjoy the city as he wanted, however, as his thoughts lingered on that morning's spat. He chewed his food thoughtfully, pausing to glare in the window of some boutique though not really looking at the merchandise displayed. He sipped his coffee and mulled over the emotions that had spiraled though his mind in that shower and after. Fights weren't unusual between the two lovers, foreplay Carl sometimes jokingly called it, but he was still disappointed that they hadn't lasted long before their first in the new apartment.

"Tested," Carl muttered, peevishly shaking his head and moving on down the sidewalk again. He tossed the rest of the uneaten bagel, nearly half, in a trashcan along the way and continued sipping his coffee. His mind was reeling with fresh anger at the suggestion as he pondered what had inspired the idea. He smirked; maybe Blake had watched "Rent" one night to fend off the loneliness of the apartment.

It wasn't as though testing could change anything if one of them had picked up an STD from another partner. The two boys had been sleeping together for a while now. It had been – what? – two years since that first act, though their subsequent relationship had only formed the middle of senior year, and between that time intimacy had been infrequent, at times, non-existent. Carl, his mother a nurse and stepfather a doctor, had always made sure that they used protection. Since puberty he'd spent many a night listening to lectures guised as clinic horror stories from the parentals, and even though the moral was always abstinence, the ultimate message had boiled down to "…but if you're going to do it, protect yourself." As Carl teasingly put it to his younger lover, "no glove, no love", which always gained a pleasant blush.

To the back of his mind, Carl thought of how Ginger, considered the more responsible of the two Foutley children, had never received such talks from mom but faith in her judgment on such matters was probably not misplaced. Ginger had remained a virgin until her sophomore year of college, a fact she did not know Carl was aware. He smirked subconsciously. She still thought he was a virgin.

Carl wasn't an idiot. Or a complete one, anyway. He knew the rumors that had floated around about Blake all through high school. Angel on the outside but rotten to the core. And Carl wasn't so foolish as to think there wasn't truth behind the things their peers had maliciously whispered about the blond. He didn't care much or tried not to, they had all hated Blake for the same reasons Carl had, but people changed, to that he could attest more than anyone, especially after said people had been through as much as the Griplings.

In childhood, Blake had been rich and spoiled, his every whim granted by his doting butler, Winston. Then Prescott Gripling, Blake's estranged father, was arrested for insider trading. The family accounts were frozen and assets seized pending trial. While Prescott was given a cozy cell in an upper scale prison designed for white-collar criminals like him, his wife and children were left homeless and poor. To tell truth, Carl had been overjoyed by the event and even now he didn't regret feeling that way. Blake had been a snob, plain and simple, who gained sick pleasure from flaunting his family's fortune in the faces of his middle-class classmates. There wasn't a single soul who didn't revel in seeing the pristine prick kicked to the curb.

Sex, drugs, alcohol, they all became known associates of the young blond and the rivalry that had existed between Carl and Blake since earliest childhood disappeared overnight. At the time, Carl hadn't concerned himself with it. His own family dynamic had been shifting; Dr. Dave was marrying his mother and talking about moving the family and Carl had been focused on rekindling his romance with Noelle. So there was a long period of time during which the boys had fallen off one another's radars. They didn't know what was going on with the other and neither could care less.

Now Carl found himself wondering if his past relations played less of a role in Blake's new concern than the younger boy's own personal demons. As well, Carl knew Blake loved him. He spent far too much time trying to please the older boy to just throw it all away by being unfaithful.

While Carl knew that getting tested wasn't a big deal, that it would not – at least he hoped – change anything between the two, and that on a certain level his mother would even be proud were she to know about such an uncharacteristically responsible act on his part, he couldn't fight the bile that the idea brought to the back of his throat.

Getting tested, having to get tested, meant confronting Blake's past. If rumors proved true then Carl didn't know if he was ready to handle it.

By the time Carl had reached the University, he had finished and discarded his coffee. The campus was just as busy as the outer lying city but there was a different atmosphere to it. It was youthful, optimistic, and brimming potential. Carl wasn't sure he liked it. The place was filled with competitive, bright-eyed and bushy tailed coeds eager to prove themselves to their parents, to their peers, to the professors, and to the world. They strutted about putting on airs, thinking they'd made it simply by being admitted to the university even though Carl knew after graduation the majority wouldn't find work in their chosen field of study.

The freshmen were easy to pick out, though Carl knew not a single one of them. They were the youngsters, who, having just achieved the title, shamelessly waved about their adulthood as though all they needed were a megaphone to announce to the world, "my opinions are valid now!" Oddly enough, at the same time, they all seemed lost and overwhelmed. Sort of the way Carl was beginning to feel as he made his way towards the Student Resources building.

The counselors office was packed wall to wall with cranky looking new students eager to get the first weeks leading up to classes over with and slip into a steady routine of schoolwork and socializing. Carl pushed his way to sign-in and whistled low at the estimated wait time.

"That accurate?" he queried of the secretary situated behind the sign-in desk and she eyed him wearily.

"No," she drawled, leering over a large stack of paperwork at him, "It's gonna be a _lot_ longer."

Carl offered up a sarcastic smile that the haughty woman didn't return, wrote his name on the sheet, and maneuvered through the crowd to an empty place by the wall. He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. Having been in town earlier, Blake had already taken care of his own registration and Carl added that slight envy to his residual annoyance at the undeserving boy.

"This is insane," a voice piped beside Carl and with vague interest, he glanced at the petite young woman standing idly beside him. Her hair was chopped short and jagged, dyed black with baby blue tips. She had several silver loops in each ear, and was dressed in thin colorful layers, striped fingerless gloves, a billowing patterned skirt, and black Doc Martins. Her outfit was so busy it made his head spin. She looked up at him expectantly with thickly lashed eyes outlined in ebony and he flickered her a half-hearted smile.

"Well, you didn't think you'd be the only student enrolled here, did'ja?" he replied.

"I was hoping," she joked, and then shrugging, said conspiratorially, "This must be a ploy to force us get to know each other. Cramped in here like sardines its hard not to, huh?"

"Yeah," Carl agreed, then motioning his head to the rotund brunette bouncing in front of him, he whispered, "I think I got to second base with her on my way over here. Think I should ask for her number?"

Carl's new friend gave the other girl a mock once over before shaking her head firmly and attempting to keep a straight face between giggles, told him, "Way out of your league," then with a sly smile, "Besides, she doesn't seem your type. I'm seeing you with a more Martha Stewart-y kind of gal."

Carl laced his fingers behind his head and glanced up at the ceiling, smirking more to himself than to her, "Yeah…besides, my boyfriend wouldn't approve, either."

The smile slipped from the girl's face and for a split second something unreadable flashed in her eyes and he caught his breath.

Carl wasn't entirely certain why he'd said it. Back home, in Sheltered Shrubs, no one knew about his relationship with Blake. In fact, the only souls in the world who knew other than the two boys involved were Winston and Courtney, and for Carl, that was already too many people. He and Blake hadn't spoken much about it yet but seemed to agree that as far as their peers at the University would be concerned they were roommates, maybe childhood friends, but nothing more.

"Really?" the girl quipped, surprise evident in her tone. She had placed hands on her hips now, tilting her head to the side in a cutesy manner. The smile coolly slipped back into place and she said, "You know, I have an excellent gay-dar, and I did not have you pegged."

"Because I'm…well…not…not exactly," Carl mumbled, frowning at the ground and crossing his arms, slightly frazzled. The girl looked around the room in stun before returning her gaze at him and dropping her voice to a whisper.

"Still in the closet?"

"Closet…? What closet?" he returned, eyes fixated on the secretary at the sign-in desk.

Carl's sexuality was a topic he couldn't bring himself to discuss with his closest friends and family that loved him and that he in turn loved. There was no way in hell he could discuss it with a girl he'd just met whose name he didn't even know in the crowded waiting room of the school counselors' office. She must have caught on because she straightened her posture, cleared her throat and found a subject change.

"What are you majoring in?"

Grateful of the girl's seeming intuition and trying to lighten his mood again, Carl grinned easily and slipped into his usual charming, if not slightly strange, self.

"Well, I'm not decided yet. I was thinking perhaps mechanical engineering, it's always been a dream of mine to build an army of robotic chipmunks, scary enough as they are in the fur if you know what I mean," he rambled off as the girl quirked an eyebrow, "But microbiology has caught my fancy as well. Just imagine the viral infections I could design. Maybe one that causes large bright orange welts and excretions of slime?"

"Wow," she responded, half-teasing, "Compared to that my Communications major sounds _lame_."

"Well, nothing you can do about that…" Carl chuckled.

The secretary at the desk called out into the crowd, "Aubrey? Aubrey Mae?"

"That's me," the girl chirruped to Carl, extending a hand and claiming, "It was nice meeting you…?"

"Carl," he replied, shaking the offered hand, "Carl Foutley. And right back at 'ya, babe."

"Carl," she repeated with a toothy grin, "I'll see you around, I guess." He nodded, smiling, and she turned, weaving her way through the crowd to the front.

Carl watched Aubrey's retreating form with mild interest as he was left alone again with his thoughts. She was sweet, a little off which he liked in a woman, and she was pretty in an understated sort of way. He slumped against the wall, lowered his head and closed his eyes, affectively turning his surroundings into nothing more than a mere buzz of incomprehensible conversations.

In the closet. It was a phrase Carl had never really thought to apply to himself. True, he was in a relationship with a boy, a fact he kept hidden from most everyone in the world, but he kept a lot of things hidden. Secretive was his nature. It wasn't that he liked hiding it from his family though. It just was too hard to talk about and not because he was 'trying to cope with being gay'. If it were just that, things would be easy.

However, as in all aspects of life, Carl was weird and while usually he relished his abnormalities, this was one thing he wished he could be more normal about…or at least, less different.

Less different. Carl snorted softly, smiling to himself as the crowd shuffled around him and time ticked on. His entire life people around him had wished he would act less different. It took eighteen years but he'd finally joined them.

That's right. Those had been Hoodsey's words. It was the second week of freshman year; that point when the school year was less new and people had fallen into the ritual of everyday. The flocks of students had meandered of into smaller herds and found their place on the high school social ladder by then, as well. They had their group of friends and had just finished the process of marking territory. The bathrooms, the water fountains, or under the bleachers were all taken, claimed by the kids at the top of the ladder. Most students would have to settle for loitering in the atrium or even meeting in front of lockers, top locker residents having dibs, of course.

Carl would have been more than satisfied with the bottom rung of the social ladder with Hoodsey and Noelle at his side but that year Lois had given her son a choice; either go out for a sport or spend after school hours volunteering at the clinic. He had snorted, not much of a choice. Evenings with Dr. Dave and mom? No thank you. So, not entirely certain what he wanted to play or what he would be good at, he auditioned for every sport at the school, dragging Hoodsey along with him of course.

To no one's surprise, Carl was a poor team player. He tackled everyone without prejudice during football, failed to pass in basketball, and refused to differentiate between nets on the soccer field. However, shocking everyone but himself, it turned out he was an incredibly fast runner with stamina to boot. Lucky High School's track and field team was the worst in the state, probably in the nation. Watching Carl gracefully and effortlessly sprint the 100 meter, breaking the school record in the process, left the track and field coach in tears of joy.

"Make room in the trophy case for us," he'd proudly proclaimed to no one in particular, as he slapped an arm around Carl's shoulders, the boy glaring uncomfortably at him, "We're going to state!"

That had been Monday. By Thursday, everyone at school had heard about the new track star. Suddenly Carl wasn't the "weirdo that makes dog noises in the back of class" but "the speed demon _man_", or depending on who you asked, "cutie with the running shoes".

At lunchtime it was as though everyone had assigned tables they would sit at with their usual group. The more popular students got the better tables like the one the football players and cheerleaders occupied tucked at just the right angle in the far back. Hall monitors, who spent their time wandering the front of the cafeteria, had a poor view of it. The less popular students, on the other hand, got the poorly placed tables like the band geeks whose usual table was located in front of the bathrooms. Every time the door opened the smell of excrement wafted out.

Carl made way to his usual table, brown lunch bag in hand. He plopped a kiss atop Noelle's curly head before taking the seat across from her and Hoodsey, both of whom had trays of cafeteria gruel in front of them. They exchanged a look before seeming to eye him strangely.

Carl glanced between them then scowled and sighed heavily.

"Okay. What did I do?" he demanded. Noelle shook her head, working on her lunch as Hoodsey forced a glimmer of a smile.

"Didn't think you'd be sitting with us, is all," he murmured. Carl looked bewildered.

"Where else would I sit?"

Neither said a word, though Noelle did return his kiss with a quick brush of her lips to his cheek. So Carl shrugged it off. He opened his lunch, pulling out a peanut butter and pickle sandwich – his new favorite – a bag of wasabi peas and a can of Hawaiian punch. A gaggle of girls with fashionably styled hair and make-up slathered over their faces wandered by the table. They paused; distantly Carl noted that their attention was entirely on him.

"Hi Carl," they all said in varying forms. He glanced them, offered a brief smile and nod of his head.

"Ladies."

The girls broke into a fit of giggles and wandered away into the crowd of the lunchroom. Carl caught Hoodsey watching him bemused and Noelle was focused on the tabletop, absently pushing the food around on her tray with a fork. Whatever was eating at them was starting to eat at him. He couldn't stand the way they kept glancing at him when people walked by and called his name. They offered up little comment when he told the story of his latest efforts trying to convince his mom to let him get a new puppy after Monster had passed on middle of seventh grade. It was seriously beginning to grate his nerves until finally he plucked Hoodsey's lunch tray off the table and slammed it back down in disgust. His companions jumped, along with everyone around him, looking to Carl with wide eyes.

"_What_ is going _on_?" he demanded again, glaring between the two as the rest of the lunchroom settled back into conversation, "You're both acting like cheesecake pudding got taken of the cafeteria menu."

Noelle and Hoodsey shot each other looks, which only served to further frustrate their friend. Then Hoodsey sighed heavily and Noelle decided to bite the bullet.

"It is not the pudding," she stated firmly, then seeming to carefully pick through her words, continued with, "It's just that…things…are different."

"Things?" Carl pressed, raising a skeptical eyebrow. Noelle chewed her bottom lip momentarily.

"_You_ are different," she finally relented, lowering her eyes to her food again.

"Got news for you, sugar, I've always been different," Carl snapped harsher than he'd intended, "It is an integral part of who I am."

"And it is that which I love about you but you are not so much in that way anymore," Noelle went on, daring a peek at him through sparse lashes, "You have…changed," again carefully choosing words, "We worry."

"And then there's this track and field thing," Hoodsey threw in, which drew an exasperated sigh from Carl.

"I told you," he exclaimed, "Lois forced me but it's not going to change anything. I'm not going to start sitting with the jocks and I'm not going to stop planning the next Creep-fest and I'm not going to leave you two behind."

"But, it started before that," Noelle interjected, "I do not know what this thing is but it is there and it makes you not _you_."

"Yeah, Carl," Hoodsey agreed quickly, "You're not the same. I never thought I'd say this but…can't you be a little less different?"

"_I'm_ not the same? Look who's talking," Carl growled as his eyes burned into Noelle, disregarding Hoodsey all together. He knew his best friend; hurtful as his few words had been Hoods wasn't behind this 'intervention', "_You've_ been acting different for months now. We don't talk, we don't hang out, we don't _make-out_! It feels like we're fighting but I don't know what about. Sheesh, you've gotta give me a clue here, sister."

"Did you ever think perhaps I react to you?" Noelle shot back, jabbing a pointed finger in the air his direction, "Talk? Hang out?" she spat the words into Carl's face, as though obscenities, "You do not want to do these things. All you say is 'make-out', 'make-out', 'make-out' but I do not think you even want that!"

Carl shoved his half eaten food away, glaring down his nose at his girlfriend for a second before pulling himself from the table and stalking from the lunchroom, a few curious stares at his back. Noelle pushed her own food away, crumpling to the table in unshed tears. Hoodsey placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"He's just got things on his mind," he softly assured the sobbing girl.

"Things," Noelle murmured angrily, "What things can he not tell _us_ about?"

"I don't know, Noelle," Hoodsey muttered, shaking his head as he rubbed her trembling back, "We shouldn't have pushed him, though."

In the boys' bathroom, Carl splashed cold water onto his face, massaging his brow with wet fingertips. The fight had left him with a headache pounding behind his eyes. It was only two weeks into the school year and his relationship with Noelle already hit a bump. He didn't like the feeling of dread that left him with. They'd been through worse, Carl knew, but that had been when they were children. The terms girlfriend and boyfriend had carried less meaning, less responsibility.

"Me? Changed?" Carl scoffed, staring at his reflection in the mirror, water dripping down his chin and some sopping wet strands of hair plastered to the sides of his face and his forehead. His soft brown eyes, reminisce of a puppy he'd been told on more than one occasion, now stared back at him hollow and blank. "Come on Foutley," he mumbled, "Where's that sparkle?"

The door to the bathroom swung open and Carl straightened, reaching for paper towels to dry up. A tall lanky form slinked into the room and Carl caught a glance of black hair, freckles, and a horrible striped sweater vest, before he buried his face in scratchy white paper. He fought back a groan and wondered if his day could get any worse. He reminded himself that if Brandon was here that meant Blakey-boy wasn't too far away and had to fight another groan.

"Carl, how delightful," Brandon cooed, in a girly high-pitched squeal that caused the other boy to wince subconsciously, "It's been far too long since last we talked."

"One could even say, not long enough, Higsby," Carl responded, tossing the paper towels and turning to the newcomer with arms folded across his chest. He had been right about Gripling being nearby. The blond stood huddled silently in the corner, leaning uncomfortably against the tiled wall.

For a moment, Brandon looked caught off guard if not slightly hurt by Carl's comment, but he recovered quickly with a fit of giggles, "Oh really, Carl Foutley, you are too much."

Brandon wasn't wrong though. It had been a long time. A few years, to be exact, since Carl and the other two boys had exchanged words or even been in close enough quarters for them to get a good enough look at one another. Now, there they were, surveying each other. Or, more like Carl was surveying the other two, Blake seemed to be giving him a once over, and Brandon was busy in the mirror. Time, Carl thought, hadn't been particularly kind to any of them.

Towering over the bathroom sink, Brandon was the tallest boy in their class. He didn't appear it though, with a slim figure and feminine demeanor. Over the years, he'd become more flamboyant in his gestures and speech and even dress though his mother still picked out all his clothes. He was even wearing make-up, which he was reapplying over the sink as he inquired how Carl, "darling", was doing. There were a lot of rumors floating around about Brandon, mostly about his sexual preference, and the guy did very little to sway them.

Even as children, it wasn't hard to see that Brandon was extremely different from the other boys but at the time they were too young to put a name to it. Now there seemed to be an endless supply of them, "faggot", "fairy", "queer", "homo", were a few favorites. Homosexuality, or alleged anyway, didn't bother Carl. Live and let live was his take on the issue. It was Brandon himself that was the bother. Annoying and overbearing, some things never changed.

Blake had changed though, more than anyone. Bitterness had hung over him for a time but now he just seemed to be resigned. He had once been so proud and a bit of that shine could still be seen beneath the black cloud he carried around with him. His father's criminal charges and family's predicament clearly weighed heavy on his shoulders, dragging him down to depths Carl couldn't even guess at. His nice brand-name clothes had been replaced with rags from the clearance rack at Wal-Mart years ago. His fancy accessories and over-the-top gadgets replaced with sorrow and misery.

Last Carl had heard his old archenemy was living in the trailer park. He had a constant look of admonishment, like a dog that had been kicked one too many times, and he had been; kicked, punched, hit, pushed, shoved, broken, battered, bloody, and bruised. He'd learned the hard way that the poor don't have as much free reign with words; especially if the penniless loudmouth is a short, petite, pretty boy like Blake Gripling. It probably didn't help that at thirteen he was the youngest in the class. The rumors about Blake were just as bad as those about Brandon, and given that the two boys were near inseparable, Carl was inclined to believe those rumors true.

The blond boy was staring a little longer than would be considered normal and, when realizing Carl's notice of it, turned quickly away with a blush, which Carl amusedly catalogued in the back of his mind, actually made the younger boy look cute. He smirked at how it also confirmed at least one rumor to be true. Blake was gay. Harder to predict than Brandon, but not a complete surprise.

"I've been perfect, Higsby, and yourself?" Carl responded tersely to Brandon's question of his well being, forcing a grin that looked more like a grimace. He turned to the mirror again, running his fingers through his damp hair in an attempt to give it some order.

"I've been _fantastic_," Brandon cried out with obvious glee, puckering his lips to apply gloss while calling over his shoulder, "Sophia, you should really do something with your face. A little blush would help with that pale complexion of yours, and those dull eyes would look fabulous with a bit of liner."

Blake glanced horrified to Carl, and then stammered, "That's quite alright. I'd really rather not wear any of that stuff."

"What do you think, Carl?" Brandon questioned and the other boy flickered his eyes up to the towering teen.

"Uh…yeah, a bit of blue eye shadow, red lipstick, throw him in a dress, he'd look great," Carl joked and Blake sent him a dark glower.

"Don't give him ideas," he hissed as Brandon's eyes lit up. He spun to fix a mischievous grin on his smaller friend while Carl debated slipping from the room and leaving the 'ladies' to discuss costume. He decided against it, the awkward factor did not outweigh the entertainment value of the confrontation. Besides, even after all these years, nothing cheered him up like watching Blake squirm.

"Come on, Sof, why look drab when I could make you fab?"

"Maybe because I like drab," Blake argued, then glaring petulantly at Carl, "See what you've started."

Carl threw his hands up defensively in front of him, hiding a smile. To be honest, he would really rather not see a cross-dressed Blake, after all, there was weird and then there was just plain wrong.

"You used to be so well-groomed and now it's almost like you embrace the squalor in which you now live," Brandon sighed, missing the pained expression that flickered over his friend's features, even if Carl didn't. With one last sigh, he returned his attention to the mirror and the boy beside him at the sinks, "Carl, we really must catch up, you and I. I've missed our play-dates! We used to be so close. What happened between us?"

Carl pursed his lips finding himself regretting not ducking out of the bathroom when he'd had the chance. Sarcastically he dripped response, "Yes. Well, maybe we'll get together over tea sometime."

"Tea would be splendid," Brandon squealed and in the corner Blake rolled his eyes.

The bell ending lunch rang and Carl started for the door. He glanced over his shoulder at the other two boys not making a move.

"Coming?" he questioned. Brandon beamed at him and informed him in a patronizing tone that 'Sophia' and he had things to do and then they'd be right along. A last glance at Blake, who looked as though he were feeling sick and embarrassed, and Carl slipped from the room to head to his next class.

Carl stared hard at the counselor in front of him while she typed into her computer. She was a middle-aged woman who had obviously never wanted to be attractive in her entire life. Her hair was buzzed close to her scalp, her eyebrows thick and unruly, and she had a mole on her upper lip with three little hairs poking out. She wore a blue polo and black slacks that clung oddly to her androgynous body. Her black loafer tapped distractingly on the floor of her office. A golden nameplate on her desk identified her as, "Henrietta Merriwood".

As soon as Carl had taken a seat in the office, Miss Merriwood had bombarded him with an assortment of questions, mostly personal, that he'd answered as best he could while still recovering from the initial shock. Now there was only silence save the clack of the keyboard.

"Well, Henry," he decided to speak up. She shot him a dark look that he was meant to take as a warning not to call her that, "What'd'ya think? Do I have a future in this school or what?"

"That is yet to be seen," Miss Merriwood droned in a voice deeper and raspier than Carl's own. A second more of typing, a click of the mouse, and the printer behind her whirred to life. "Since you'll be entering freshman year as 'undecided' I have you signed up for core classes." She collected the papers from the printer behind her, straightened them in a neat pile, and handed them over, "This is your schedule, Mister Foutley. Have a nice day."

Carl accepted the papers, stood up and, to Miss Merriwood's chagrin, saluted. He announced brightly, "Pleasure as always, Henry. You have a marvelous afternoon and I will be seeing you."

Before another word could be spoken, Carl swiftly exited the office.

* * *

AN: I wnt to clarify that the argument Carl has with Hoodsey and Noelle in that flashback isn't about what everyone is going to think it's about. The "change" they keep talking about isn't them noticing but not realizing he's "gay", mainly because, like I said, he's not. It's about his mood, I think. Later, it becomes clearer later.

I was watching a few episodes of "As Told By Ginger" to get back into the characters heads for this and was pleasantly reminded of two wonderful things. I love Carl, and I love Noelle. Carl is hands down my favorite Nicktoon.


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